Old Souls
by am4ever
Summary: When an old case suddenly becomes red hot, Gibbs and his team in DC will need all the help they can get to protect the victim...or victims...and put the case to rest once and for all.
1. Chapter 1

**I hope you all enjoy the beginning of this story! **

**As always, NONE of the characters in this chapter belong to me. **

**As you get in to the NCIS LA portion of this chapter, you will see where the "AU" portion of this story lies. I have another story "Breaking Down" which centers around Hetty and Admiral Chegwidden. I have continued their relationship from that story in to this :) **

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

_**Washington, D.C.**_

_**NCIS Headquarters**_

_**Present Day**_

"Leon…"

"Gibbs, come in," the Director of NCIS stated, motioning for the lead agent to close the door behind him.

"You get through to the CIA?" Gibbs asked, coming to stand in the middle of the room.

Leon Vance nodded, sighing heavily as he perched on the edge of his desk. "It's not going to be easy, Gibbs. They'll only allow us to have the redacted report."

"Not good enough," Gibbs stated firmly.

"I know. We need to find Sharpe first…get something out of him. I need something proving information in the redacted report is suspicious...maybe even inaccurate."

"McGee and Bishop are on their way to the Bahamas now. Sharpe's last known location," Gibbs replied.

"Get him here as quick as you can. And go at him hard, Gibbs. Something was left out of that report that we need. Before these bastards try another again."

Gibbs nodded. "I'm guessing the CIA didn't give any hints on the identity of the agent who was captured by Renkov, did they?"

Vance grunted. "No…nothing."

Gibbs turned and walked to the door, one hand on the knob.

"If I find out they willingly held back information…"

"Already on it, Gibbs. Our lawyers are working on it."

"Good."

The door slammed behind Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

"My sentiments exactly," Vance thought, lifting himself from the desk and picking up the phone.

He only hoped tonight's calls wouldn't result in more dead ends.

* * *

_**Eighteen Months Earlier**_

_**Los Angeles**_

Since Hetty's return from Vietnam, it had been a whirlwind of emotions for both she and the Admiral. While it had taken time for her to recover, it did not stop her from throwing herself back in to work full throttle. Cases that were difficult mixed with her uncertainty surrounding the new Executive Assistant Director, Shay Mosely, did not help make things any easier.

AJ's day of retirement were now filled with contacting old colleagues and friends in various agencies- trying to determine the true reason Shay Mosley had moved out of the Secret Service to NCIS. He was grateful for her allowing the OPS team to come and help rescue Henrietta in Vietnam…but there was something about her demeanor that had the elder Admiral questioning her motives.

And then- a mere three months later- it happened. Mosley had gone rogue and asserted every ounce of her power to find her son. The unsanctioned mission almost killed Henrietta's entire team…and had indeed cost a young Harley Hidoko her life.

When AJ had found Henrietta at the mission that awful night, she'd already had a go bag in hand.

"Where to?" was all he asked, seeing his wife's grim expression.

"Mexico. We have to pick up Keane. I need him on the ground."

And so they'd gone- Hetty overseeing the team's safe delivery to the Mexican hospital and keeping in contact with Turk. Keane took over the ground crew while AJ worked with Nell and Eric on the logistics to extract the team back to the US once they were stabilized.

It was four days later when AJ confirmed that the last of Hetty's agents, Callen, had now arrived safely at UCLA Medical Center. Keane and Turk would "tie up" any loose ends in Mexico so that AJ and Hetty could head home to see to the team's recovery.

But that plan would never come to be.

Before the Admiral and Hetty could leave Mexico, the call had come from Washington. Hetty was to report, immediately, to headquarters in D.C.

"You're not going!" AJ had commanded, while she sat silently staring at her now silent cell phone. "I'm calling Kilbride."

"It won't matter, AJ," she'd said quietly. "Someone has to answer for this."

"And it won't be you. You saved this damn mission," he'd growled. "You are not taking the hit for it…Mosely is!"

"We won't find her," she reminded him.

"Arlo and Keane can find her. So can that duo up in OPS."

He'd started calling Admiral Hollace Kilbride, an old friend of both he and Hetty's. But before the connection could be made, Hetty stood and pulled the phone out of his hand, ending the call.

"Henrietta!"

"AJ, leave it be."

The look of resignation on her face concerned him. Dropping his hands to rest on her forearms, he pulled the small woman in close, studying every feature of her body language.

"What's wrong?" he'd asked. "You're the last person to let the Feds decide…"

"I know…"she'd interrupted, shaking her head, "but…"

Leaning down so he was eye to eye with her, he'd asked, "Then what?"

She drew in a deep breath and turned her eyes away from his. "I'm tired, AJ. I'm just….I'm just so tired."

Her stance suddenly lagged under his hold. Gently, he pulled her to sit down next to him on the edge of the uncomfortable hotel bed that had become their home over the past few days. At that point, nothing else had mattered…simply holding her in his arms and granting her some mental and physical rest.

If anything was for sure, it was that they would both need it to get through the coming months.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Present Day**_

_**Los Angeles**_

"Yes….yes…fine. Thank you, Nell. I'll see you in the morning."

The Admiral peeked around the corner, seeing Hetty place her cell phone down on the hall table, along with her keys and purse. He tried to stay out of sight, not wanting her to know he'd tried to listen in on the end of her conversation.

But to no avail. Before she even turned in his direction, she called out, "You can come out now, AJ."

Huffing, he crossed his arms and came around the corner, stopping in the middle of the hallway to face her.

"Thought you said you'd be home earlier today," he said firmly.

She turned and matched his stance. "There were things to be taken care of for a new case."

"And why couldn't your team handle it?"

"Because they were out tracking down leads," she replied simply, dropping her arms and making her way to the large, winding staircase. "And for the record, I never actually confirmed I'd be home earlier. I said I would try."

She hadn't reached the second stair before he moved to follow. There was no way she was getting out of talking tonight…he would not allow it.

"That's a load of crap, Henrietta, and you know it!" he growled, now only a step behind her.

She turned quickly, her eyes suddenly alive with anger. "AJ, let it go!"

His eyes creased with frustration. "I am only trying to….

She held up a hand to interrupt him but wavered slightly. Quickly, she grasped the banister to keep from falling, as the Admiral's irritation instantly dissipated. Reaching forward, he put both hands on her waist to steady her.

"Henrietta?"

It took only a few seconds for her to shake off the dizzy spell. Standing straight once more, she looked up at the Admiral. "I'm fine. Just tired. Perhaps we can discuss this later."

"You're not fine, Henrietta," he replied softly, stepping up to the same stair she was on. "And we'll discuss this now…but I think it would be best for you to sit down."

"AJ…" she huffed, only to be cut off by his pulling her in to his side.

"No arguments…" he began, changing his tone slightly when he saw the hesitation playing out on her face, "…please."

Before, she would never have given in. But now….things had changed. And tonight especially, she was too tired and her head was pounding too much to disagree with him.

"Fine," she answered quietly, taking his offered hand.

He led her slowly up the rest of the stairs, noticing her evident exhaustion and stiff movements. And when they entered their bedroom and he turned on the overhead light, her wince and averted eyes confirmed for the Admiral that something more than a dizzy spell was going on.

Hetty dropped the Admiral's hand and quickly moved in to her closet, shutting the door behind her. He left her alone for a few minutes, allowing her time to compose herself. The Admiral knew Hetty hated to accept help from anyone…even if that person was her husband. Dependence on anyone other than herself was not something Henrietta Lange would ever be "ok" with...

The Admiral snapped out of his reverie when Hetty emerged from the closet a few moments later, having changed out of her suit in to a more comfortable pair of pants, shirt and heavy cardigan. Again, she averted her eyes from the harsh light above, moving to her bedside lamp and turning it on.

"Could you flip the switch?" she asked, sitting down on her side of the bed.

He obliged, standing from the arm chair to turn off the overhead light's switch by the door. Instantly, she seemed to relax. As he moved to sit beside her, he noticed the slight shake in her hand as she reached up to rub her neck.

"Day that bad?" he asked, sitting down next to her and tentatively moving his hand up her back. Gently, his fingers began to knead the tight knots in her shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the obvious tension she was holding in.

"No…not really…" she said, allowing her hand to drop as AJ's fingers took over massaging her aching neck.

"Then what gave you the headache?" he prodded, turning slightly and bringing both hands up to rub her extremely tight, slightly hot, neck muscles.

She shrugged. "Who knows…?"

The two remained silent for a few moments, AJ working over Hetty's muscles, and Hetty's weary body beginning to relax back against her husband's chest.

"Does it have to do with the team?" AJ asked, having finished rubbing her neck and now moving his hands up and down her arms.

Hetty's head remained lowered, though she moved it slightly from side to side. "It's just work, AJ. Nothing more."

"You don't need me to remind you what the doctor said, do you?"

Sitting up straight, her shoulders stiffened under his hands. 'No, you don't."

"Then why didn't you come home earlier today?" he asked again, still not sure she was telling him the truth.

It took a moment for her to answer. But finally, taking a deep breath, Hetty look her husband straight in the eye and said,"There are certain times I need to drown myself in work, AJ. You must know that by now."

Leaning down, he gently pressed his lips to the middle of her forehead. "I do…but it won't help anything if you push yourself too hard, Henrietta."

She nodded, offering a small smile before the pressure behind her eyes pounded stronger. Looking down, she hoped he hadn't noticed the pained expression cross her face. "I know."

"Humor an old man who is only concerned about his wife, ok?" he asked with a small chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood.

"I suppose…but if there is a case, I _**do**_ need to be there, AJ," she reminded him, patting his leg and turning back around to her nightstand. She knew there had to be a bottle of aspirin or Tylenol in the drawer.

"I'll try to remember that," he agreed, watching her closely as she fumbled to open the nightstand's drawer. "Didn't you take anything yet?"

"No…not yet."

She popped three pills in her mouth and swallowed them with a bit of water from the bottle on her nightstand. Her head seemed to be swimming and the flashes of light were coming closer together. Sitting back against the headboard, she closed her eyes, hoping a moment's rest might make things settle.

AJ sat forward, brushing his fingers down her cheek. "You should eat something if you're taking those."

"I will," she said, forcing a smile. "Just give me a minute."

Shimmying off the bed, he squeezed her knee gently. "I'll go heat up the plates. Scotch or tea tonight?"

"Just tea…I doubt Scotch and aspirin would do me any favors tomorrow morning," she answered with a sly smile.

"Wouldn't be the first time you've tried it," he whispered in her ear, leaning over and kissing her softly. "I'll come up when everything is ready."

"Thank you," she whispered back, putting a hand on his cheek as he pressed his lips to hers again, a bit stronger this time.

Breaking, he winked at her and smiled. "Rest those eyes."

As he left the room, Hetty pulled the blanket up over her legs and sank down on to the mattress. After turning out the bedside lamp, she buried her head in her pillow, praying the pain stopped soon.

The team had been without her long enough….and she vowed not to let them down again.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A little teaser chapter! Thank you to all the followers...I hope you are enjoying this so far...I promise that answers are coming in the next few chapters :) **_

* * *

_**Washington, DC**_

_**Two Days Later**_

The door slammed shut, waking the older man from the light sleep he'd fallen in to.

"Retired Agent Henry T. Sharpe. Member of the CIA from 1963 until retiring in 2008. Countless missions, numerous accolades….quite the career," Gibbs indicated, looking up from the file he was reading.

He met the wrinkled, tan face of a smiling Sharpe, the older man shrugging. "Just did my job, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs threw a few files on the table and sat across from Sharpe, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms.

"I take it Agents McGee and Bishop told you why you were being brought here."

"To help with a current case that connects to one I worked for the CIA…yes," Sharpe replied, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. "Though I must admit, I'm surprised they found me."

Chuckling, he continued. "Not many people come looking for me anymore. In this line of work, it's hard to keep friends…let alone family. And I didn't give the agency my change of address. Funny how you were able to track me down."

While Sharpe may be retired, Gibbs knew there was still a sly agent inside the eighty year old man sitting across from him. And Sharpe was fishing for information as to how he had been found and the details of the current and former case. But Gibbs wanted to give out information in his own time…not Sharpe's.

"Technology has advanced….easier to find people who don't want to be found," Gibbs replied, opening the second file he'd brought in to the room.

He laid out two pictures in front of Sharpe. "Do you remember these two men?"

Sharpe pulled out a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and studied the photos for a brief moment.

"Can't say that I do. Were they involved in a case I worked? Photos look quite dated."

Gibbs nodded. "These were taken back in the '80's. We're working on getting updated photos but haven't found these men yet."

"In the wind?"

"For now."

"Where?"

"Not sure."

"And that's why I'm here?"

"Possibly. You're sure you don't remember them?"

Sharpe shook his head again. "I don't. Not by pictures anyway. What are their names?"

"Anton Vanin and Alexei Petrov."

"Russians."

Gibbs nodded. "Ring any bells?"

"Can't say that they do."

Gibbs pulled out another picture from the file and set it on top of the others.

"How about him?"

Sharpe leaned forward to study the photo.

"Remember this guy?" Gibbs asked when Sharpe didn't respond immediately.

"Yes…of course. Anyone who worked in the agency from the late sixties through the eighties remembers him."

"Name."

"Maxim Renkov," Sharpe stated clearly, sitting back and taking off his glasses. "I am guessing these two men were associated with Renkov and his organization? That is what you're getting at?"

"You worked on the Renkov case, didn't you?"

"Almost all of the CIA was involved to some degree."

"But _**you**_ were listed in the report," Gibbs replied, his tone firm as he planted a large file labeled **"RENKOV 1984"** in front of Sharpe. "Not everyone in the CIA was."

Sharpe sighed. "Let's cut to the chase, son. You send two agents to bring me back to DC….a place I haven't been in over ten years. You sit me in this interrogation room and start asking me about people I don't know and names I haven't spoken in almost forty years…"

The older man laid his glasses on the table and clasped his hands over the Renkov file, not once looking down at it.

"So tell me Agent Gibbs, what is it you want from me?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**Washington, DC**_

"Sitrep!"

McGee and Bishop stood to attention as Gibbs came around the corner, coffee in hand and a look of frustration on his face.

"Boss, we thought you were interrogating…"McGee began, only to be interrupted by Gibbs turning quickly, his eyes creasing in anger.

"Sitrep, McGee," Gibbs stated slowly, his tone one of warning.

"Right," McGree croaked, quickly turning on the television screen.

Pictures quickly popped up as the team stepped in closer to view them.

"Our team in Russia hasn't had any luck finding Vanin or Petrov. But they did just send us an update on Maxim Renkov's former lawyer, Andrew Clayborne," Bishop relayed, pointing to the picture of an older gentleman on the screen.

"He was originally from England and moved to Russia in 1970. Garnered Renkov as a client in 1972 and turns out, Renkov was his only client until after the raid in 1984."

"Probably got paid a fortune to keep Renkov's organization out of trouble," Gibbs commented.

"There's just one problem," Bishop continued, pushing the forward button to reveal another set of photos.

This group of pictures revealed a destroyed office; files and papers thrown across the floor; chairs overturned; equipment and windows smashed to pieces.

"Our NCIS team in Russia obtained the address to Clayborne's office. This is how they found it."

"Any idea what the intruders were searching for?" Gibbs asked.

"From the looks of it, a laptop and some files were taken. Desktop computer was left smashed. Forensics is going to try and get any files related to Renkov off the hard drive," Bishop explained.

"Any leads on Clayborne's whereabouts?"

Bishop sighed. "Unfortunately, yes."

Once more, she clicked the forward button on the remote, revealing a final set of photos. Gibbs cursed under his breath, McGee sighing in defeat as the mangled body of Andrew Clayborne thrown in a dumpster filled the screen.

"The team found Clayborne's body in the dumpster behind his office building. Autopsy report isn't in yet but the medical examiner in Russia believes he's been dead at least two weeks," Bishop relayed quietly.

Gibbs finished the last of his coffee and threw the cup away, quickly moving behind his desk to grab his badge and gun.

"Two of you get some sleep. Let me know when there are any updates from forensics or the Russia team."

"Actually Gibbs, I'm on protective detail tonight for Ekaterina," Bishop said, looking to McGee slightly confused. "McGee takes over in the morning."

"Changes of plans. I'm going there now. You two come back here in the morning to work the case."

"What about Sharpe?" McGee asked. "He'll need to be…"

"Director's handling him," Gibbs growled.

Gibbs swiftly moved past both agents to the elevator, leaving them confused as to what exactly had caused their boss to change plans so suddenly….and what information former Agent Sharpe had given up.

* * *

_**Los Angeles, CA**_

_**NCIS: OPS**_

The phone rang on Henrietta Lange's desk. And when she saw the caller and looked at the time, she instantly knew something was wrong.

"Leon….working late tonight?"

The Director of NCIS smirked. "Late on this coast but not on yours, Hetty."

"Mmm…what can I do for you?"

"Afraid I'm going to need your team's help."

"My team's help? Well, they are_** your** _team, Director. Every case we're given is under your ultimate direction."

Leon chuckled. "Don't go all humble on me, Henrietta. We both know you run all the operations in LA. And I appreciate that I don't have to micromanage them. But there's a case we've caught here in DC that I'm going to need some extra hands on."

Hetty sat up straight, picking up her pen and pulling her notepad forward. "Of course. What can we do?"

"Nothing…yet. Just wanted to give you the heads up. More than likely we will need technical support to find some targets in Russia. I'm afraid Gibbs' team is being utilized for other areas right now and they're being pulled in all directions."

"I see," Hetty answered, writing down a few notes. "And do you need my people in DC?"

"Not sure. I'll keep you up to date. But I appreciate any cooperation you can give us."

"You always have it when you need it, Leon," Hetty answered honestly. "Can you give me any idea as to what this case is about?"

"Afraid I can't do that right now, Henrietta. We'll need to have that conversation over a much more secure line."

"That big of a case?" she inquired.

"Yea…we'll talk soon. Thank you, Henrietta."

"Of course, Leon. Good night."

"Night."

Hetty looked at the phone before hanging it up. She knew that the Director of NCIS had a secure phone line, as did she. So for Leon Vance to say that conversation of this case needed to be on a more **_secure_** line…that was concerning on multiple levels.

"Hetty, you coming?"

She looked up to see Nell and Eric standing at the edge of her office.

"Is it that time already?" she asked, pushing aside the concern now swirling through her mind.

"It is!" Nell agreed, walking up the two steps and putting her hands on her hips. "And you promised you wouldn't say no if there wasn't a case."

"No case tonight so you have to come," Eric agreed coming to stand by Nell. "The rest of the team is meeting us there."

Hetty chuckled and stood, closing her laptop and locking her desk. "Well, then I guess I have no choice."

"You don't. Especially since Deeks already put money on you beating Callen at pool."

Nell's eyes widened while Hetty's creased as she put one hand on her hip. Eric's mouth opened, realizing he'd just let the cat out of the bag.

"I…uh…I wasn't supposed to tell you that. Um…maybe don't say…it's not like…it was just a friendly wager….um, we should go!" Eric said, quickly turning and making his way out of the mission.

Nell pressed her lips together to hide her laughter while Hetty shook her head and took her purse off its hook.

"You don't have to play pool, you know. This is just a chance for you to see Deeks and Kensi's bar," Nell explained as she and Hetty slowly followed Eric's exit.

"Oh, I know that. But it would be such a shame to let Mr. Callen think he's the best at the game of pool. Sometimes the best need to be bested," Hetty responded with a knowing grin.

Nell's laughter filled the mission as the two petite women made their way out the door and in to the streets of Los Angeles.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you so much for all the kinds reviews! And I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! I wanted to do this justice as we are bringing a bit more information that is crucial to the plot in to the story :) I hope you enjoy!1**_

* * *

_**Somewhere in Arlington, VA**_

Gibbs finished off the last of his coffee, placing the mug down beside the file he was reviewing. He'd gone over the details multiple times since this case had started two and a half weeks ago. But the seasoned agent couldn't shake the feeling they were missing something…something staring them straight in the face. If only he could figure out what that "something" was.

It had started out like any other case: Marine widow shot during a Wounded Warrior gala; two men taken in to custody and one killed on site by security guards. After learning that the victim was also the Director of the Wounded Warrior Project out of Bethesda, Maryland- the logical assumption was that she was targeted for her work with the organization…maybe by a disgruntled veteran or family member…perhaps even someone who had a hatred for veterans.

But as soon as interrogations began, all logical assumptions ceased.

While Ekaterina Johnson fought for her life in the hospital, Gibbs and the team found that she had been shot by a hit team…not the real perpetrators of the crime. They had no hatred for veterans and no hatred for the Wounded Warrior Project. They were given only one task to accomplish: kill Ekaterina Johnson.

It had been quite easy to get information from the two thugs. After being offered leniency in sentencing, they quickly gave up the two names of the men who'd hired them: Vanin and Petrov.

But Vanin and Petrov had absolutely no connection to Ekaterina Johnson, her late husband, his family, her family…

So why on Earth would they want her dead, and why would they go to such lengths to make sure it happened?

A sudden interruption in the form of a large, orange cat jumped on the coffee table, sitting directly on the report Gibbs had been reading.

Gibbs smirked. "Really?"

The cat stepped forward, nudging Gibbs' hand to encourage a pet behind the ears.

"Torres was right. You like to run the show, huh?"

"He has since he was a kitten," a quiet voice said, startling Gibbs.

The cat jumped from the coffee table to the back of the couch, purring loudly as its owner came in to the living room. Gibbs stood, turning to find the petite, less than five foot, Ekaterina Johnson in an oversized sweater and yoga pants, now petting the friendly animal's back. He was grateful to see she seemed more alert and rested than she'd been the past few days.

"I hope he's not in the way," she said.

"Not at all. He's pretty quiet, actually."

Ekaterina nodded. "I appreciate you letting me bring him here."

Gibbs could sense how much this woman cared for the animal now standing on his hind legs and rubbing his face across Ekaterina's cheek.

"We ruled him out as a suspect. All good."

Ekaterina laughed lightly, gently pushing the animal back on to the couch and pulling the sweater tight around her frame. The cat followed her as she moved around the couch, jumping to the arm of the chair Ekaterina sat in slowly.

"Can I get you anything? Torres said you haven't eaten since breakfast."

Ekaterina looked over at the clock, noticing it was almost 10:00pm.

"I didn't realize I slept so long," she answered.

Gibbs took a seat on the couch once more, picking up his coffee cup and studying the inside of it.

"Pretty rough PT session?"

Ekaterina agreed. "But…I guess that's what I need to get back up and running, right?"

"Yup. It'll get easier."

"I'm sure it will," Ekaterina answered, wincing slightly as the large cat settled itself in her lap. "I thought Agent Bishop was going to be here tonight."

"Change of plans."

"I see," she answered, putting up her hand as he moved to explain. "Don't worry…I've learned not to ask."

Gibbs couldn't help but laugh as he stood. "Quick learner, I like that. I'm gonna grab another cup. You want some?"

"I'm more of a tea person…but thanks."

"I can boil a kettle…give me a couple minutes."

As Gibbs waited for the water to boil, he couldn't help but think about the resilience of the woman sitting one room away.

The doctors had said she was lucky…that it would take a long time for her to recover to full strength. The two bullets she'd taken had done quite a bit of damage- one to the abdomen and one to the right thigh. But she'd taken it in stride- and Gibbs had come to learn that it was not the first time Ekaterina Johnson had to deal with tragedy in her life.

Maybe that was why she seemed unfazed by being placed in protective custody, moving in to a safe house, and the lack of information she was being given by the people working this case.

A whistling tea pot broke Gibbs from his thoughts. He poured the steaming water in to a mug for her, poking his head around the archway.

"Want anything in it?"

"Plain is fine, thanks," she answered.

Gibbs finished pouring both drinks and moved back in to the living room, handing her the tea cup carefully before reoccupying the couch.

They drank in silence for a few moments before Gibbs set his mug down and leaned back.

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Fire away," she answered, pulling the mug in closer to her chest.

"Have you ever heard the name Maxim Renkov?"

Her eyes creased in thought for a moment before shaking her head. "It doesn't sound familiar. Should it?"

"Not necessarily. Just wondered if the name ever came up in conversation."

"Hmm…and it sounds German? Russian?"

"Russian," Gibbs confirmed.

"My father was stationed in Germany for about six years. That was where he and my mother adopted me. Perhaps they knew this Renkov from there? Though, I can't say I remember them mentioning a Renkov."

"Got it."

Gibbs leaned forward and wrote a few notes on his paperwork.

"I do have all of my parents' important papers in a safe at the house. You are more than welcome to look through it to see if this man is listed anywhere."

"Worth a look," Gibbs answered. "Afraid I can't let you back there yet."

Ekaterina rolled her eyes. "I know. I can give you the code to the safe. Don't worry…I won't try and sneak out on you to get back to my house anytime soon."

"Not what I meant," he confirmed, turning to look her straight in the eyes. "I just need to keep you here and out of harm's way."

Looking down, Ekaterina took a slow breath in. "I do appreciate that, Agent Gibbs…very much. You just let me know when you need the code, and I'll get it for you."

He nodded and turned back to writing his notes.

"Might I ask a question?" Ekaterina asked.

"Go 'head."

"Why is this man important?"

"The two men who put the hit out on you were once hired by Renkov in Russia. It was what put them in jail in the first place."

Seeing she was listening intently, he continued…cautiously.

"Renkov died in the 80's, but the fact that both Vanin and Petrov were hired employees of Renkov's suggests they may still be working for the old organization's cause."

Ekaterina set her tea cup down and folded her arms across her chest, deep in thought.

"Then I am assuming correctly this Renkov's organization was not a good one? Considering he is dead and the reason these two men were in jail was because they worked for him?"

Gibbs agreed but did not expound on any further details.

"I see," Ekaterina said.

Gibbs set down his pen and stood, coming to stand next to Ekaterina's chair. "Listen…we're not completely sure...but with Renkov dead and these two men putting a hit out on you as soon as they got out of prison…"

"Would suggest that there is some connection to this Maxim Rekov," Ekaterina finished for him. "Wish we knew what that connection was."

"We'll find it…don't worry," he answered.

She let out a small breath of relief, smiling up at him. "I'm not...well, not yet anyway."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Moscow, Russia**_

_**November, 1984**_

He waited patiently, hoping that this was not some kind of test. But by all indications, Renkov's men believed him to be Dr. Chekov's assistant. And it was they who had barged in on a surgical procedure, demanding Chekov's help immediately. And it was Chekov who had sent him first- promising to come as soon as he finished the operation on another poor soul.

But now he'd been waiting in this cold, dim library for over ten minutes- his small black medical bag beginning to grow heavy. He'd already surveyed the room for any sign of her- but there were none. No pictures- no indication that any woman resided in this monstrosity of a house.

The double doors slid open, and the two men who'd brought him here immediately stepped aside- allowing a shorter- albeit, domineering man to storm in to the room.

"Where is Chekov?" the man demanded, his thick Russian accent and striking features confirming that this was indeed Maxim Renkov.

"He will be on his way within the hour. He asked that I come to help until he could finish another operation."

"You are…?" Renkov asked, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the stranger.

"Dr. Matthew Frank- Dr. Chekov's new assistant," the man replied, holding out a hand to shake Renkov's.

Renkov looked at the hand, back at his two men, and then back at this new assistant physician.

"Why Chekov need assistant?"

"Not sure. He advertised, and I got the job." At this, Henry Sharpe dropped his hand and continued, "Dr. Chekov said he's been getting too many patients to handle on his own."

Renkov remained silent but seemed to accept this answer. One of his men stepped forward and handed the credentials for Dr. Matthew Frank to Renkov.

Renkov studied the papers, while Sharpe made a quick decision about how he would need to handle Maxim Renkov if he were to make any headway and find his missing CIA agent.

"Look, sir, if you prefer to wait for Dr. Chekov, that's fine. But from the inappropriate and disrespectful way your two men barged in to a surgical procedure and demanded immediate assistance for someone in this household, I would assume time is of the essence. And if that is the case, I can assure you I have trained with the best and practiced on my own in London for 15 years."

Renkov eyed him suspiciously, dropping the papers to his side as Sharpe looked him directly in the eye.

"My suggestion would be to take me to whomever is in need of medical attention so I can begin an assessment and treatment until Dr. Chekov arrives to assist. If we waste much more time, I'm afraid I may not be able to complete my job sufficiently."

Renkov turned to the side, looking towards his men and then back at this Dr. Matthew Frank. He contemplated the options, then finally, cracked a small smile.

"You make sense. I like. Come," he instructed.

Renkov pushed the papers back in to Sharpe's chest and pivoted towards the doors. Hurrying to catch up, Sharpe shoved the papers inside his jacket pocket and fell in to step behind Renkov. He attempted to take in to account the various windows and doors as they made their way through two hall ways and up a large, winding staircase.

But with the way Renkov's men had him flanked and were watching his every move, escape route planning would have to come later. Right now, all that mattered was finding his agent…and finding her alive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Present Day**

**Interrogation Room **

**NCIS Headquarters**

**Washington, D.C. **

"And you said the agent did not recognize you when you entered the room?" Vance questioned, walking around the table and lowering the paperwork he had been reviewing for the past five days to glare at the elderly man sitting across from him.

"No…in and out of consciousness when I was brought in to the room. Immediately, I asked if they or Dr. Chekov had given any medication in the past that put her in this state."

Vance halted his pacing, pivoting to directly face Sharpe. "So you confirm it was a female agent?"

Sharpe sighed. "Vance, I don't appreciate playing games. And from the physician's report at the end of that report- you know well enough that it was a female agent extracted from Renkov's home."

"But throughout the report, it merely refers to the person in question as 'the agent.' Never gives a name or gender," Vance countered.

Sharpe looked up at the Director, weary from being questioned for hours and annoyed that he had been found in the first place.

"Fine. It was a female. Is that why you brought me all the way up to D.C?"

Vance smirked. "No…but it's a start."

He sat across from Sharpe, took a pen out of his pocket and wrote a few notes. "What did they say when you asked if she had been medicated?"

"They brought out two bottles. Neither were narcotics or illegal. Just regular pills."

"For pain?"

"Can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Redacted in the report, correct?"

"Case was 30 years ago, Sharpe. Tell me what the pills were for."

"If it's redacted in the report, then I am out of information," Sharpe said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Vance dropped his pen on the table, folding his hands together and leaning forward. "We can do this one of two ways, Agent Sharpe. Either you give me the information I need…or I make sure that you never make it back to your hidden island."

Sharpe eyed the Director curiously. While he knew the Director of NCIS held a great deal of power, surely there was no case currently that could cause the Director of the CIA to release the un-redacted report from the former Renkov case. Besides- it was a matter of security for not only himself, but for many others that he keep his silence.

And until he saw that report, with all names, dates, locations staring back at him, he would never open his mouth. He had sworn an oath. And he would go to his grave with the information- no matter what.


End file.
